


Survival Instinct

by everybodylies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CACW, Civil War, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodylies/pseuds/everybodylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s gotta be okay. He’s always okay. In the ten days that Bucky’s known the guy, he’s never not been okay. He’s the most okay man Bucky has ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival Instinct

_If I had known it was gonna be a firefight, I absolutely would have called._  
_No, no, I’m not actually sorry. I’m just trying to sound tough._

_—_

_I just want to make sure we consider all our options. ‘Cause people who shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me, too._

 

 

 

 

 

Their first day on the run, Sam properly introduces himself in the middle of a firefight, while they’re ducking behind some crates. Bullets whizzing over their heads, Sam turns to Bucky and grins, extending a hand. His white teeth shine in the grime of the warehouse. “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Wilson.”

Bucky takes the hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.” There’s a pause in the firing, as the other side reloads, and Bucky watches Sam stand up and take out two men, finger steady on the trigger.

* * *

Their third day on the run, they get surrounded in an old mill. Steve looks out the window and shakes his head. “Only way out is through,” he says, setting his jaw grimly. And by “through,” Steve means through the dozens of armed men, ten trained dogs, six cruisers, and three helicopters.

“I’ll cover you two from the roof while you make a run for the forest out back,” Steve says, already heading for the stairs. “Then you cover me while I jump.” He disappears before Sam or Bucky can voice an opinion.

A fucking joke of a plan, and Bucky actually feels a little giddy because it’s nice to know Steve hasn’t changed. He locks eyes with Sam who also looks unimpressed by the plan. It’s also nice to know someone else in this group has some common sense.

Smile tight, Sam says to Bucky, “I’m good with it if you are.”

Well, Bucky’s good with it, but that’s just because at this point, he’s pretty sure that dying is just an inevitability for him. He’s already died once. He’s already dead. He’s been finding it hard to care.

No doubt, Sam feels differently. He’s got a family, friends, something to live for. But Bucky’s good with it, so Sam is too.

They hear Steve start shooting up top, and it’s time to go.

* * *

Their seventh day on the run, Bucky’s idly watching the news in their motel room when Sam, looking very weary, pushes open the door, heads straight for the bed, and collapses face-first onto it. Concerned, Bucky scans the parts of Sam’s body that he can see, but Sam looks fine, only covered in dirt, sweat, and other people’s dried blood.

Nevertheless, Bucky stays concerned. He watches Sam sigh into the mattress.

“Hey, pal,” he says casually. “You alright, there?”

At the question, Sam lifts his head up, and his face looks horrifyingly blank for a second, Then he kind of squints at Bucky and smiles, closed-lip. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He lays his head back down. “Steve’ll be back in a minute,” he says, muffled by the sheets.

Bucky frowns. “Okay.”

* * *

Their tenth day on the run, Bucky gets stabbed in the thigh. Steve’s eyes bug out, but Bucky remains calm. He kind of has to, seeing as the blade is lodged about a millimeter away from his femoral artery and one wrong move could be the end. Besides, he’s seen a lot worse.

“I’ve seen a lot worse,” he tells Steve to try to calm him down, but he seems to just get more upset.

Sam pulls up in a hot-wired SUV, and Steve pretty much just throws Bucky into the backseat in a panic. “I’ll hold ‘em off!” he shouts at Sam. “Go patch him up, and meet at the rendezvous point in an hour.”

Sam speeds off, weaving in and out between traffic. He glances at Bucky through the mirror, and his eyes look twitchy. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles. “I’m just a little ticked off that I let someone get that close to me.”

“Good,” replies Sam. “Stay with me, Bucky.”

Jeez, it’s just a stab wound. People need to stop freaking out. He’s lost one liter of blood, at most. “Not goin’ anywhere, buddy.”

Sam’s breathing is quick and loud, Bucky notices. He takes a sharp turn, and Bucky has to brace himself against the car door.

“…You okay up there?” Bucky asks, a little nervously.

Sam’s gotta be okay. He’s always okay. In the ten days that Bucky’s known the guy, he’s never not been okay. He’s the most okay man Bucky has ever met. Bucky glances at Sam’s face through the mirror, and he looks grim and pale.

Then, Bucky notices a splash of red on Sam’s right arm. “Shit, Sam,” he says. “You’re bleeding, too.”

Sam’s eyes widen as he looks down at his arm, and the hum of the accelerator grows louder. But Sam’s voice stays level when he replies, “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Bucky lets out a breath. If Sam’s okay, it’s okay. “Oh, hey, you know what?”

“What?”

Bucky chuckles morbidly. Maybe he did lose more than one liter—he’s feeling a bit woozy. “Now would be a really good time to become blood brothers. Come on, let’s do it. Steve would get so jealous.”

Jaw tight, Sam laughs, a little too loudly, a little too desperate.

* * *

Their fifteenth day on the run, Bucky’s taking a piss in the middle of the night, when the bathroom door opens and Sam rushes in, closing the door behind him and sinking down to the floor to put his head in his hands. _Shoulda locked the door, Barnes._

Well. He’s not entirely sure what to do in this situation, but first things first. He puts his junk away and flushes the toilet, then washes his hands. Sam’s head jerks up, and he stands quickly. “Oh, sorry, I—I didn’t know—”

Bucky gets his hand on the door before Sam can leave. “Sit down,” he says.

Sam gives Bucky a doubtful look. “Are you going to kill me just because I saw you peeing?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky walks over to the toilet and puts the top down, then pats it invitingly. “Come on, sit down.” He then sits himself down on the edge of the tub.

“Look, man,” Sam says, slowly lowering himself onto the toilet, “if we’re about to have a talk about boundaries and stuff, I totally get it. It was a complete accident. I didn’t mean to—”

“Sam,” Bucky sighs, “what’s wrong?”

Sam’s mouth gapes open for a moment before it reforms into a weak smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

“You are not ‘fine.’ You were about to have a panic attack in the middle of the night.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Sam responds quickly.

“Your hands are shaking.”

Sam glances at his shaking hands and clenches them into fists. “Look, man, you’ve got enough problems without me dumping mine on yours. I can handle myself.”

“Actually, you’re right, Wilson. I do have a shitton of problems. One of them is that you refuse to tell me what’s wrong.” Sam stares at the ground. He looks like a man who’s starting to come apart. “So why don’t you do me a favor and talk to me. It’s the least you can do.”

“I…” Sam sighs and rubs his hands over his face. His eyes are bloodshot. “I’m just.” He sighs again. “I’m just tired of being shot at.”

It’s at this point that Bucky starts to feel unsure. Sam’s a counselor. Bucky’s an assassin. Why did he think he could do his? Fuck, he’s made a mistake. What is he supposed to say now?

“Okay,” Bucky says.

“And the thing is, I dug myself into this pit,” Sam continues. “I didn’t have to come. Steve gave me so many chances to get off the ride. He kept saying, you don’t have to do this, Sam, you don’t have to do this. But I wanted to help. And now I’m here… and I feel like a coward.”

“You’re not a coward, Sam,” Bucky replies, frowning deeply. “You should feel this way. Not wanting to get shot at. It’s normal, to not want to die.”

Sam shakes his head. “Just look at Steve. Every day he runs into battles, no fear, no hesitation. I see it. He’s not scared.”

“Steve is a special case,” Bucky grumbles. “A basket case, actually.” His eyes lose focus, looking into the past. “See, Steve always got sick as a kid. Every winter, it was bad. And when he was seven or eight, he got real sick. Pneumonia. Probably the worst ever. We really thought he was going to die. I mean, he already looked dead, just lying there in his bed, not moving, pale as fuck. We were taking shifts for the deathbed vigil, we’d gotten the priest in to do last rites and everything.

“And then… he got better. And I think,” Bucky says slowly, “I think… ever since then, he ain’t been afraid of dying.” He shakes his head. “All those times I had to pull him out of a bar fight, all those times I had to stop him from getting himself killed by Nazis.” He meets Sam’s eyes. “Don’t compare yourself to Steve.”

“Well, what about you?” Sam asks, looking unconvinced.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. “What _about_ me?”

“After you got rescued, during the war. They offered you an honorable discharge. You could have gone home. But you stayed and fought. I always thought that was brave.”

Bucky laughs sourly, catching Sam off-guard. “Look, pal, I don’t know what they taught you in history class, but the only reason I stayed in that war was because I knew Steve was gonna get himself killed without someone watching his six, and I didn’t trust anyone else to do it.” He pauses and thinks for a moment. “I actually wasn’t all that different from you. I said yes to something I thought I wanted and I spent every day after that regretting it. I mean, I didn’t regret it enough to actually do anything about it, but risking your life and almost dying day after day… it gets to you. It fucks with your brain.” Sam seems to be calming down, maybe, and Bucky forges on, encouraged. “Honestly, if I hadn’t fallen off the train when I did, I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted in that war. I might have hit my breaking point.”

“And now?” Sam asks.

“And now…” Bucky sighs. No point in beating around the bush. “I don’t really care anymore. About living. I’ll follow Steve into the fray, and I’m not worried about whether I follow him out.”

Sam starts frowning again, and Bucky curses internally. And he’d been doing so well.

“Bucky—”

He cuts Sam off with a shake of his head. “No wonder you’re fucked up. You’ve been spending all your time with a guy who doesn’t care if he dies and another who doesn’t care if he lives. You’re the only normal one here.”

Sam leans back, closes his eyes. Breathes in.

* * *

Their sixteenth day on the run, they’re getting shot at again because of course they are.

Steve’s up ahead disabling some weapons system, and Sam and Bucky are just trying to stay alive. They kneel behind a parked car and start reloading. Bucky turns to Sam, who’s gritting his teeth.

“Hey,” he says, “I got your back.”

Sam nods, once. “And I got yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> come [talk](http://coldtea.tumblr.com//) to me


End file.
